The Moon Rising
by firerai
Summary: Veela are creatures of love and beauty, they are also Children of the Moon. It affects their appearance, magic and to some extent their moods.'Hogwarts watch out, Draco Malfoy is looking for his mate.Features Girl!Harry Veela!Draco
1. Lumine

Lumine 

_Author's notes; I have reloaded this chapter with some additions, so as to give little old me some more plot material to work with. _

_If you want to see a disclaimer, look to my profile._

_And so without further ado, I welcome you, Care Lector, to chapter 1_

Lillian Potter surveyed her bedroom, the smallest bedroom of number 4 Privet Drive from her seat on the small bed. A battered trunk lay at the end of her bed, it was open and a collection of large, male clothes lay in a tangled mess half in, half out it. The clothes had been altered, some badly and it was obvious that they had been male clothes and others with more care and skill, so that they looked vaguely feminine. The clothes had once belonged to her cousin, Dudley Dursley who was as wide as a hippopotamus standing on its hind legs. Indeed, Dudley was nearly wider than he was tall and he was almost as tall as uncle Vernon.

On the cheap, time worn desk was a large owl cage that was currently empty, an inkbottle and quill along with several rolls of parchment. Around the desk was a large assortment of precariously stacked spell books, their covers obscured by an overlarge jumper so as not to offend her uncle or aunt should they enter the room.

The walls were, as ever, covered in Dudley's castaway and broken toys, books and other paraphernalia. Taped to the wall above her bed was a hand drawn calendar that counted down the days until the Weasley family was coming to pick her up. The only window was open, allowing a breeze to curl into the room, lowering the temperature slightly and allowing the red glow of the setting sun to bathe the room, turning the white painted walls red and illuminating the battered wardrobe opposite the bed.

She sighed and climbed, slowly to her feet and moved to look into the mirror that hung on the side of the wardrobe. Looking back at her was a petite young woman, with long black hair pulled back into a low ponytail, bright emerald green eyes, a small elegant nose and finely moulded lips. The large, poorly adapted male clothing that she was wearing did not entirely hide her slim body. With a sigh Lillian removed the round, black glasses that hid her eyes and rubbed a hand across her face.

Tomorrow was her sixteenth birthday. It was, to some a milestone development, but Lillian couldn't bring herself to think of it that way; a milestone event of that kind was one shared with family. The closest thing she had to family had been ordered by Dumbledore to pick her up five days after her birthday. Not that that bothered her particularly, it would just be good to have some friendly company.

'Sorry mate, but Dumbledore didn't allow us to come to get you earlier' or 'Dumbledore made us promise not to write anything of importance', was all that Ron's letters contained these days. As though he was writing out of obligation, rather than any real feelings of friendship.

Even Hermione's letter's had been stilted at the beginning of the summer, she had obviously been labouring under the same promise, but as time marched on her letters became more natural and friendly.  
Lillian only hoped that this was due to her respect of Dumbledore diminishing, rather than any new adeptness at deception.

Moving to the window, pulling the rickety wooden desk chair with her and wincing as the bruises that littered her torso complained loudly at the movement, she sat down and stared out over the cookie-cutter houses of Little Whinging illuminated by the dying sun.  
She watched the sunset, and subsequent moonrise ignorant of the passing of time. A slamming door jerked her back to reality.  
Her uncle was home. Lillian only could only hope that he had had a good day and did not need to relieve his frustrations on her.  
Drunken yelling met her ears, followed by the unsteady pounding of feet on the stairs.

No such luck, not even on her birthday.

Lillian slid hurriedly away from the window and turned to face the door. She deserved what was going to happen to her.  
She had killed Sirius, and murderers did not deserve mercy.

Thump

Thump

Thump

Draco Malfoy sat in the window seat of his bedroom, staring out of the window at the expanse of gardens below and let his head fall back onto the wall with another thump.

Ever since his sixteenth birthday a month ago, there had been an ache of longing, a longing that went soul deep, in his chest. It was not so distracting that he could not function, but it grew ever so slightly worse as the days slipped by.

You see, for all those who do not know, Draco Malfoy was, like the majority of the Malfoy family before him, a Veela.

Looking at him before the transformation it was not immediately obvious, you had to know that he was to be a Veela and be scrutinising him fairly closely before the hints of his heritage were apparent. That however was then. Now, a month after his transformation it was more obviously apparent.

His eyes, once a stormy grey, were pools of silver in the moonlight and retained their silver hue in the light of day. It was softened slightly so that if you did not look too closely, they passed as the grey they had been before the transformation. His already handsome face had been altered slightly, giving it an almost unnatural beauty in the moonlight. He had grown around two inches and gained the toned physique of a lifelong athlete.

His senses had been sharpened slightly, with a better sense of smell and hearing. Remembering what one of the books had said;

'The Veela will be able, once he or she has an idea as to who the mate is, will be able to see the aura of the people the mate is friendly with. The aura will be an almost exact match to the Veela's, the Veela will be able to see his or her aura during the search for the mate. When I say see the aura, I mean that the Veela will see the imprint of the mate's aura upon the aura of the people that the mate has come into contact with. The details of the aura of those who are not the mate will remain veiled.'

Draco's magic had also been affected, where he had been a powerful wizard before, his powers were now tied to the cycle of the moon, strongest at the full moon and weakest at the new moon. He had also gained a large power boost, and an increase in the amount of control that he had over his now significantly larger magical abilities. Most Veela gain a small power boost during the transformation so as to be better able to protect his or her mate, an increase of this size must be to put him on more of an equal footing with his unknown mate

On his lap was a well-read book, not just by Draco but by generations of new Veela before him. The book was simply called 'Veela, the children of the moon'. It bore no author aside from an inscription in the front page;

To my fellow Veela,

As I was bid by the moon spirit

I crafted this book for those who live outside the kingdom

So that they may understand their heritage.

Blessed be.

Flipping it open he reread the passage that disquieted him the most.

'There are few creatures on this earth that need a mate as much as the Veela do. The mate is the opposite of the Veela in many ways, but they are also a perfect match for that Veela. Veela are creatures of love and beauty, they are also tied to the Moon. It affects their magic, their appearance, and to some extent their moods.

The mate binds the Veela to the earth and to life, as a Veela without a mate slowly falls prey to what is termed 'Moon Madness'. In their desire to be closer to the moon they waste away until the mortal body dies and the spirit of the Veela is free to do as it wished to in life. It enters the magic that is emitted by the Moon and waits until the mate dies. The soul bonds between them are then dissolved and a new mate is chosen as the basic personality of the Veela's soul changes. They are reborn and the cycle begins anew.

The time for the Veela to fall prey to 'Moon Madness' depends upon several factors, the proximity of the mate, the power of the mate, how much the personalities of both the mate and the Veela have been altered during the course of life and the previous relationship between the Veela and their mate.

The factors that aid the descent into madness are:

A large distance from the mate

A powerful mate

Extensive change in both personalities

A very bad previous relationship between the two people.

The opposite is true for warding off the Madness.

The Veela is, as a rule, normally born around a month either side of the birth of the mate. However the prospective date of the birth of the Veela does not change should the mate be born prematurely. The Veela will still be born around the month of the original prospective date of birth of the mate.

Draco slammed the book shut. It was useless. It gave him no help as to finding out who his mate was.

'I mean' he thought 'it is not as though I can ask everyone at Hogwarts when they were meant to be born! It was absurd, his mate scent would be all over Hogwarts and it would be next to impossible to determine where it was coming from.

'Couldn't it just be that my mate is the only one that I can see the aura of or something? My sense of smell is not so good as to be able to pinpoint the person who smells like my mate.'

Lifting his head Draco stared out of the gardens behind the manor house. The geometric shapes of the hedges and rosebushes took on a slightly eerie look as the moonlight washed over them, coating them in silver. The fields and woods beyond were half hidden, the trees in swaying slightly in the wind that rustled their silver leaves. Lifting his face Draco stared at the beautiful full moon and prayed to find his mate and that he or she would accept him when he found them.


	2. Occultus

'Moon rising' are thoughts

"Moon rising" is speech

"_Moon rising" is parseltounge_

_Author's notes; hello again, welcome to instalment numero deux! _

_Enjoy! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SWEARING you have been warned. _

_By the way 'occutlus' means 'the hidden' in latin, so don't say you haven't learnt anything new today!_

_As always reviews are indescribably, indubitably, unbelievably welcome, but no flames please._

Occultus

She withstood the beating without a sound.

It was only when Uncle Vernon stumbled out of the room, leaving her sprawled and bloody on the floor, did she finally make sound.

The smallest trickle of insane laughter echoed hollowly from her cracked and bloody lips. Here, the girl who could take on Voldemort and come out alive and relatively unscathed, brought low by some prejudiced, bastard of a muggle.

Here, lying on the bloodstained wooden floor of the only refuge capable of keeping her safe, that same girl was dying.

In the residence of her narrow-minded, intolerant relatives, she bet Dumbledore could never have foreseen that as the place of death for his precious saviour.

She wondered if he knew she was dying, or if he counted on the Blood wards to protect her so much that he never installed a magical monitor on her and was content relying on them to alert him of an attack, never believing that she needed protection from her despicable relatives as well.

Her consciousness was slipping away; the orange light cast by the street lamps outside was dimming, as blood loss and shock forced her brain to shut down.

She found that she pitied him, pitied him for his naivety, and that for all his long years and formidable knowledge of human nature, that he still believed that relatives would always protect a hated member of their family.

But above even that shard of pity, she hated him, Hated him for leaving her here to rot. Hated him for brushing her queries and worries aside, sending her away with a pat on the head and a declaration that everything would be alright.

Above all, she hated the way he had played her, manipulating her into proving her worth again and again.

Her dimming thought turned to her friends.

Hermione and Ginny were the family she was never privileged to have. They would understand what had happened to her. The pseudo Ravenclaw and Slytherin would bring Dumbledore down, she was sure.

Ginny was the first to realise that they were out of place in Gryffindor, that they were all forced to act the part of a true lion.

She was the one that brought it into the open, forcing them to see how similar their situations were. Hermione was the one to bring them together to rely on each other and be themselves with when the Gryffindors' became too much.

She would miss Ginny, all the times they had laughed together, rolling their eyes at Hermione's study habits or else thinking up ridiculous ideas to escape from the book mad Raven-in-lionesses garb.

Hermione too, her good-natured teasing when Lillian started swearing in Parseltounge, her insistence that homework is done now, if not sooner. Their long-suffering glances when Ronald was less than subtle about probing for information, no doubt on the headmaster's behalf, or her confused looks when either Lillian or Ginny waxed a little too Slytherinesque while planning one new scheme or other.

Lillian thought of Ron, the boy that could have been one of her best friends if he was not Dumbledore's informant in the Golden Trio. She vaguely wished that things could have turned out differently with him.

The orange light was almost gone now, and her thoughts were coming sluggishly, as if through treacle.

All of a sudden, a wonderful burst of feeling enveloped her oxygen-deprived brain.

It was a summer's day, a Mother's love, a Father's hug, a warm breeze, a laugh, a beautiful song, the comfort of warm water.

It was indescribably beautiful, immensely powerful, calming, comforting, yet exhilarating and energising.

Lillian did not want this feeling to end.

Indistinct voices murmured comfort to her, hundreds of different tongues singing together in perfect harmony.

The magic spun around her comforting, healing, working almost franticly to restore that damage that had been done to this unique child's battered body.

Lillian succumbed at last to darkness.

* * *

Hermione was worried about one Lillian Potter. 

This was not as unusual an occurrence as you may assume, what with all the troubles and adventures that Lillian got mixed up in at Hogwarts. However, Hermione was unusually worried about Lillian, even for her.

The feelings of unease had begun after the disastrous events at the Ministry of Magic, and had only intensified with each letter that Lillian sent her during the holidays.

At first the worry was about how Lillian was coping with the death of her Godfather. Hermione tried to be as supportive as possible, but was hindered by the promise she had made to Professor Dumbledore the night before the leaving feast. Both she and Ron had promised not to put anything of importance in the letters that they sent to Lillian, in case they were intercepted.

Well, it would have been a hindrance to the witch, had she been at all inclined to acquiesce to his request.

Hermione was not a fool, and realised that not only would all of Lillian's post would be monitored, but that all out going post from Grimmauld place would be monitored as well.

This was a severe hindrance and without the use of magic it was impossible to overcome, even with the aid of the Black library.

So, it was with a heavy heart that she attached Lilli's birthday present to Hedwig's leg, and watched the snowy owl glide out of the window into the distance on ghostly wings.

"She'll be alright, Hermione" Ginny said, coming to stand next to the brown-haired girl at the open bedroom window. The witch jumped, startled, but did not remove her gaze from the diminishing owl.

"I hope so, but somehow I doubt it. The last letter she sent scared me."

"Yea, me too. Although I would not have noticed if you had not pointed it out, truth be told."

"I very nearly didn't notice. Crookshanks was sniffing around that corner of the parchment and batting my hand with his paw."

"I still say that cat is too perceptive to be natural. I don't see why you won't let me run some tests on him Hermione. I promise that they wouldn't hurt him."

"No Ginny, I am happy not knowing for the moment, and you never tell what tests you'd run. Anyway he is half-kneazle, which may have something to do with it."

"I suppose, you may be right. Although I still say you should think about it"

Hermione sighed, shaking her head absently, still watching the sky.

After a minute Hermione broke the comfortable silence that had fallen.

"I still can't believe that Ron and the Order passed it off as a paper cut"

"They cannot bear to think that their Saviour is anything but pampered at her relatives. Dumbledore encourages the view, no idea why."

"I can see where they are coming from though, I would have thought the same thing if it had been a onetime occurrence. Lilli never unpacks a lot of her trunk at her relatives, only taking out what she needs to use that day, so finding blood on several of the previous letters and its cause a single paper cut is extremely unlikely."

Ginny leant against the window frame and smiled sadly.

"Although we do have information on her home life that they either don't have or don't believe"

"I suppose, though in the end it comes down to trust. Do they trust you and me more than they trust Dumbledore?"

"That would be a resounding, no, then."

"What is Ronald doing?"

"Being whipped at chess by Remus" Ginny answered promptly, with only the barest hint of suppressed smugness, "I couldn't believe it the first time Ron lost and since then he as made it his personal mission to regain lost pride by winning at least once. Do you think that he has remembered that it is his best friend's birthday tomorrow?"

"Of course not, normally I have to remind him, this year I want to see if he remembers on his own."

Suddenly Ginny smirked,

"It's too late now anyway, earlier I asked him if I could borrow Pig to send Lilli's birthday present to her. The moron said yes without glancing up from the chess board."

Hermione sighed,

"If only we didn't need him."

"If only" Ginny agreed and turning away from the window, went across the dark blue and bronze-bordered room to an unremarkable section of wall. This piece of wall was exactly the same as the piece to the left, and remarkably less decorative than the engraved mahogany bookcase to the right.

"Hidden in plain sight" she stated, staring expectantly at the wall which, upon hearing the correct password, obediently slid out of the way revealing a short passage way with the same bronze carpet as the main bedroom. It turned out of sight ahead of her.

"Dinner is in half an hour, do you want me to come and get you?" asked Hermione, turning for the first time from the window.

"Please, I shouldn't be long; I just want to get a few more books from the Black library before mum throws them out."

"Don't forget the pile of books sitting by the door to be thrown away. It's such a waste, destroying hundred year old books because some are a bit dodgy!" exclaimed Hermione, her tone becoming indignant as she defended her precious books.

"Don't worry little Raven, your precious books will be rescued." sighed Ginny, with the weary air of one who has heard the rant several times before. The girl twirled on the spot, her old patched skirt flaring out, and left, calling back the second half of the phrase to close the door.

"The truth is over looked."

Hermione huffed as Ginny vanished along the secret passage behind the closing bit of wall.

"Annoying snakes" she muttered, casting her mind around for something to do.

Remembering the transfiguration book she had left in the parlour and, deciding to see if Ronald had lost yet or not, Hermione let Andromeda Black's former bedroom and wandered down the stairs.

* * *

It was midnight, and the pale light of the waning moon glided into the richly decorated bedroom, coating all that it touched in its silver glow. 

Against the wall adjacent to the large balcony doors was a large, occupied sleigh bed. A beam of moonlight fell across the sleeping occupant's face, revealing his white blonde hair and a pale face wrought with agony.

His mate was dying, dying and there was nothing he could do about it. Morpheus held him close, thwarting all attempts to awaken and avenge the suffering he felt through the faltering bond.

The presence on the other side of the bond was fading, as slipping away as water through his fingers. The veela's heart slowed its rhythm, matching its faltering counterpart, beat for shuddering beat.

Suddenly a clock on the window chimed midnight and the young man in the bed froze. For a long moment the entire workings of his body were suspended. His heart did not beat, nor did his lungs draw air. Then as soon as it began, the suspension was lifted and a silver light bathed him, gliding around him.

The bond surged back, awash with magic, as the other's magical inheritance fought, to keep its possessor alive.

The young man in question half awoke, feeling his mate's inheritance begin. The bond wavered, barely able to accommodate the massive amount of magic flowing from his mate. The strain mounted on the fledglng bond, building and building.

Suddenly, there was nothing. The magic vanished as if it had never been.

Panic over took his sleep-fogged mind, was his mate dead?

Draco fought to awaken, his entire conscious bent on the wavering bond. In desperation, he sent out his own magic down the link, searching for an answer.

There was no answer to his call.

_Thank you to my new Beta- demon dog katsunie._


End file.
